


I Live In a World of Dreams

by Lillielle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dissociation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rape Aftermath, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I own nothing.</p><p>Warning for child abuse/non-consent/incest.</p><p>Reality is what you make it and Luna's determined to change hers.</p><p>[Song lyrics are from Spring Awakening's "The Dark I Know Well."]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Live In a World of Dreams

_You say all you want is just a kiss goodnight  
Then you hold me and you whisper, child, the Lord won't mind  
It's just you and me, child, you're a beauty  
God, it's good, the loving, ain't it good tonight  
You ain't seen nothing yet, gonna teach you right,  
It's just you and me, child, you're a beauty  
There's a part I can't tell about the dark I know well..._

When her Hogwarts letter comes, Luna is both afraid and exhilarated. She shows her father without speaking, and he claps her on the back, exclaims how proud he is of her, but she can see the anger burning, thwarted, in his eyes. She will be out of his reach at Hogwarts, and he can't have that, now can he? She doesn't know how to tell anyone, anyway. When she tries, all she can do is babble incessantly about nargles in the mistletoe and wrackspurts hiding in people's hair. His hands cup her shoulders and she closes her eyes, pretending that she's not there anymore. Sometimes it even works.

The Sorting Hat puts her in Ravenclaw and as she skips off to her new table, her shoes on the wrong feet and her butterbeer cork-necklace bobbing against the front of her robes, she knows that it's not going to be a safe haven for her, either. The stares and whispers are rampant, and more than one person hisses in her ear that she must be loony. The name catches on like wildfire and before Luna knows it, she's been christened Loony Lovegood, the utterly barmy first year with radishes in her ears and fake spiderwebs threaded through her hair.

It hurts, but after a while, she doesn't mind it. Her father isn't here. His ghost doesn't haunt the ever-changing corridors, doesn't whisper in her ear as she hops up the moving staircase on one foot because someone's put tacks in her shoe, doesn't slide into bed next to her at night and tell her what a pretty girl she is as his hands pull up her nightgown...

She signs up to stay over the Christmas holidays and when Professor Flitwick asks why, she simply shrugs and tells him that she knows her father is busy with the Quibbler. He is, but the Howler he sends her when she's alone scorches her ears and makes her eyes burn with tears. She doesn't take her name off the list.

When the holidays begin, Luna is alone in her dorm and it is wondrous. There is no one to laugh at her, to point at her, to hide her shoes behind the curtains and claim they don't know what she's talking about. To rip up her Charms notes and say perhaps a nargle took them. There's only her, and she lies in bed for an extra five minutes, just smiling serenely at the top of her four-poster.

It is the most glorious few weeks Luna has had since the age of nine, when her mum died and her father decided that if she was going to mope around the house, she might as well do something useful, like unbutton his trousers. She wanders about the tower freely, unhindered by older students who have stayed behind-they show little interest in firsties, and even less interest in a straggly-haired firstie who seems to peer into another realm.

On Christmas, she wakes to a small pile of presents on the foot of her bed, and her father looming over her.

An involuntary squeak of shock tears away from her throat, and she looks up at him with wet grey eyes, clutching her comforter to her as if it will protect her.

"Luna, my darling," her father says, in a gentle tone, as he squats down on his heels. His hand brushes her cheek, and she swallows down her revulsion. "Why didn't you come home for Christmas? I've missed you so-very much."

She doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything, just stares at him, unblinking. She can't stop trembling as he pulls her comforter from her suddenly lax fingers, until it falls to her waist and her nightgown is revealed.

"Did you know that the crumple-horned snorkack may have three living ancestors?" she blurts suddenly, as his hand disappears up the hem of her night-dress. He stops and looks at her, confusion evident in those slightly filmy grey eyes, so like her own.

"Tell me later, child," he finally says, and continues his exploration. Luna closes her eyes as tightly as she can, so tightly her whole face hurts.

_It's not real,_ she chants in her head as the chill morning air seeps into her exposed thighs, as his mouth brushes her cheek, scraping it with the beginnings of his beard. _Nothing is real, it's not real, reality is what you make it, it's not real._

In her mind, the world spins and she is alone, blissfully alone, and all around her, magical creatures (some known, some thought of only in child's fancies) flitter and frolic around her. A squirrel with two tails and brilliant purple eyes runs up to her and chitters, and the sound sparkles in the air. Pretty sounds, pretty eyes, pretty places, and what a pretty girl to live in such a pretty place, and she forgets. She forgets as her father finishes, as he kisses her forehead and smooths her blankets up to her chin, more than aware of her frequent blank-outs (and more than a bit thankful for them).

Reality is what you make it, and for Luna Lovegood, the world in which her father leaves her tucked up in bed, her mouth cracked and her legs sore...that world will never be real.


End file.
